


Necromancy, Conspiracy, and Other Fun Activities

by Merytsetesh



Series: How to Damn Your Soul (Without Even Trying) [1]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Character Death Fix, Come Eating, DON'T WORRY HE DOESN'T DO IT, Fix-It, M/M, Necromancy, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, SO SORRY I FORGOT TO TAG THAT, Smut is in Chapter 3, Snowballing, Suicide Attempt, THIS IS A HAPPY SMUT FIC, Voyeurism, man this got nasty fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merytsetesh/pseuds/Merytsetesh
Summary: A desperate Cardinal Copia attempts a dangerous, forbidden ritual. It works, too well, and now he's stuck dealing with the consequences instead of the afterlife.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Series: How to Damn Your Soul (Without Even Trying) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707898
Comments: 45
Kudos: 80





	1. Necromancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just discovered Ghost and they are my new hyperfixation. I’m not a Satanist, but damn do they get me pumped for Satan. I missed out on the era of Papa III and decided to write a Fix-It Fit using good ol’ black magic. Also it's going to be gay, because that’s what I’m into: dicks. Dicks everywhere.

Cardinal Copia had never robbed a grave before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

It was both easier and harder than he expected. He didn’t have to literally dig up a grave, but he hadn’t managed to steal the keys to the mausoleum either. That meant the locks to the gate and the tomb itself had to be picked. Getting them open felt like it took far too long, and he watched the rising moon with some unease, feeling the time tick by keenly. When the door finally opened they were confronted with more locks on the sarcophagus itself. Undine had taken over then, clever fingers manipulating the tumblers faster than Copia could with his shaking hands, but Undine clearly felt the same sense of urgency. Unsurprising, with how emotional water elementals tended to be.

By the time they had removed the body, replaced the locks, and returned all to how it was found, the moon was high over the trees. It was almost time and they had to move quickly. It was not unusual for members of the clergy to go for midnight strolls through the graveyard, or ghouls to prowl about like cats. He chose to take their absence tonight as a good omen.

They escaped the cemetery without incident, but Copia did not dare take a full breath until they reached the tree line. Looking behind them, he could see the lights of the abbey, the many colored windows and torches illuminating the sprawling grounds, growing fainter as they moved deeper into the old growth forest.

Wrapped in a brocade funeral shroud, Undine carried the body in their arms as tenderly as a new bride. Copia was grateful, as he didn’t think that he had the stomach for it.

When they arrived in the oak grove, Undine knelt down to lower the body, and for a moment they looked like a perversion of the Pietà, the Madonna holding the body of Christ, beatific in her grief. They laid the corpse on the large marble altar in the center of the pentagram. Still wrapped tightly in the shroud, it looked too small for what it was, as if in death he had diminished. Perhaps that was only because before he had been larger than life.

The grove seemed far too large and empty for just the two of them. The stone circle was spacious enough to accommodate all of the high ranking clergy, but Copia hadn’t picked this location for its size. The grove fell on a Ley line, and the soil itself was seeped in magical energy and sacrificial blood. Used for millennia for outdoor rituals, it predated the abbey even, and in fact was the reason it had been built there. Once it was the site of pagan worship to old gods, before Catholicism had cut a bloody swath through Scandinavia with a holy sword. When the site was rediscovered in the late 1800s, shattered runestones, swords, and human bones had been found buried in the dirt. Now they were kept in the abbey as relics, and the dig site itself had been covered in a basalt and granite mosaic pentagram polished to a mirror finish. He figured he had the best chance of success here than any of the newer indoor circles.

From beneath the stone altar, Copia pulled a cloth sack. For weeks he had been going on long walks to “clear his mind to better serve our Dark Master,” so his absence would not be noted on this night. On one such trip he had scurried into the woods and hidden his ritual tools. They were the bare minimum necessary for the ritual, far less than he would have liked to have on hand, but secrecy was of the essence. No doubt had his plan been discovered it would have been him in the graveyard next.

He arranged the tools on the altar beside the body. The grucifix, thurible, paten, chalice, and athame were his own personal tools, and as such they were more functional than ornate. He had taken nothing from the ministry sacristy, leery of someone noticing something missing. Ideally he would have had a sister to be the altar, but given the forbidden nature of his venture, he hadn’t wanted to implicate another in his crimes.

Undine was different. One evening they had stumbled upon Copia in the library with a stack of necromatic texts. Either the ghoul was more intuitive than anyone had given them credit for, or Copia had looked guilty, but they had immediately known what Copia planned and offered to help. Now they were lighting the torches at each point of the pentagram, playing the part of altar boy.

Copia lit the coal in the thurible and the scent of dragon’s blood resin filled the air, covering the reek of decay and embalming fluid. Undine took it and walked the perimeter, filling the clearing with fragrant blue smoke.

“In nomine Dei nostri Satanas Luciferi Excelsi, nema.”

Behind him he heard Undine echo the prayer. Tonight there would be no full Black Mass as was proper; there was no time. Instead, he spoke the shortest invocation he dared without insulting Satan’s pride, praying He understood the need for urgency. Raising the athame, he cut open his palm. Immediately the blood welled forth, and he clenched his fist to let it drip into the chalice. He didn't bother bandaging the wound. From a plastic sandwich bag he pulled an actual consecrated host and placed it in the paten. The communion wafer had been stolen by an undercover operative during a Catholic mass, and as such were hard to come by. Luckily, the cardinal was one of the few with access to the tabernacle, and the theft wasn’t likely to be noticed until the next Black Mass. With the blade still dropping blood, he stabbed it into the center of the host.

It didn’t feel like enough: the desecrated host, the profane words, it all seemed so insufficient for the enormity of his undertaking. But it was now or never. The witching hour was upon them.

Closing his eyes, he began to sing.

“Can you hear me say your name? Can you hear me longing for you forever?”

It sounded different outside, where the cold night air could snatch the words from his mouth before they carried. Much quieter than micced up on stage, or even in his shower where he had rehearsed. He straightened his spine and projected louder, faking confidence he didn’t truly feel.

“Would you let me touch your soul forever?”

Wind whistled through the trees, and the torches sputtered, but did not go out. Undaunted, Copia continued.

He had written this song months ago, before the Rats tour. Though Copia had studied the hymns of the Church and knew them all by heart, at the time he had yet to take up the duty of contributing to the liturgy officially. Unofficially, he had been writing lyrics for years, just for himself and his own personal devotion. This one had been different, though. One morning he had awoken suddenly, and rushing to his desk penned it completely in one sitting, as if channeling some other source. By the time he had finished, the Morning Star was fading from the sky to make way for the dawn. It ended up being the first song he wrote for the new album.

“Can you see me longing for you forever, forever…”

Without backing vocals or instruments, Copia felt very foolish singing in the woods alone except for a single ghoul as his witness. On stage it was different. There he could channel the spirit of their Prince, lose himself in the high of the performance. This was entirely different. There were no sisters, no band of ghouls to lend their strength to the spell. Only a cardinal who had been prematurely promoted, one loyal ghoul, and an unfortunate corpse.

This was not a performance. This was a petition: a heartfelt plea for justice to be done, a wrong to be righted. Copia poured his desperation into every note, let every turbulent emotion of the past year wash over him like a tidal wave. The fear of inadequacy, the loneliness that plagued him, the isolation brought on by his new role in the Church. The quiet, simmering anger when he had uncovered Sister Imperator’s conspiracy. The determination to fix it. He let it all fuel the ritual like gasoline thrown on a fire.

And still it was not enough to silence the anxious, pessimistic voice inside of him that whispered: what if this didn’t work?

What if _he_ wasn’t enough?

Perhaps he was a bad Satanist, but didn’t all Satanists feel doubt? Was that not why he left the Catholic Church in the first place? So forgive him if he doubted this would succeed, but he had to try. It felt right. It was just, and he took his calling to fight injustice seriously, even if it meant going against the Will of the Church. This was bigger than that.

Copia took a deep breath, and, come way may, let himself be lost in the song.

“This is the moment of just letting go…”

Dimly he was aware of shadows moving in the trees, but he could not let them distract him. They materialized into the shapes of ghouls, dozens of them, some masked and some not, no doubt drawn by the sudden surge in dark energy emanating from of the grove like a beacon. But like Copia, their allegiance was first to Lucifer, then themselves, so he did not allow himself to worry (too much) that any would tattle to Imperator. Why would they when it would mean an end to their fun? They hovered at the edge of the circle, aware of the boundary between worlds he had cast, and watched with unblinking pits for eyes.

Copia felt the energy flowing through him like a surge of adrenaline, like the rising panic of an anxiety attack, like a building orgasm. His palms tingled under his gloves and his knees were weak. His voice threatened to catch in his throat, but remained strong and unwavering.

“Can you see me longing for you forever and ever? Forever, forever, forever…”

As he chanted louder and louder the energy built to a powerful crescendo, hovering there on the brink of…something. He could sense it, just past the edges of this plane of existence. A familiar presence.

“Forever…”

He picked up the athame. It had been a gift from Sister Imperator; a reward for his devotion. Ironically, it would be the instrument of her undoing. He aimed the tip under his ribcage. Angled correctly, the blade would be just long enough to reach his heart.

“Forever…”

This was ancient magic. The oldest law of man: a life for a life.

“Forever…”

The full moon was past its zenith. The Morning Star hovered over the treetops.

“…if you had life eternal.”

In the center of the pentagram, Papa Emeritus III opened his mismatched eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed and written in one day, so if you see any errors please point them out. 
> 
> Yes, I am aware the ghouls are nameless, but since they are elementals I decided to give them elemental names like Undine, who I decided is nonbinary because water is traditionally a feminine element, but they present as male. Also ghouls are like…demonic elemental entities in a human shape (maybe?), so gender is a meaningless concept.


	2. Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble, then I decided to why not smut? So I contrived a plot device to get Papa III alive and on his knees sucking dick. Instead it grew big plotty legs and tried to run off with some nonsense about Papa and Copia conspiring to overthrow the Church, but I sat their asses down and made them get back to the gay agenda. Ain’t nobody got time for overthrowing anything except throwing those thicc thighs over Papa’s shoulders.
> 
> EDIT JUNE 1: Changed all instances of "the Sister Imperator" to just Sister Imperator. I'm still not sure if that's her name or her title, like how Mother Superior is a title, but within the fandom it is used like her name, so I'm going with that for consistency. Imperator is a Roman millitary title, just like how Emeritus is the title for someone who has retired from their posistion but retains their authority (like retired professors or Pope Benedict XVI).

**Months Ago**

Cardinal Copia looked upon the face of his predecessor and felt…hollow.

Papa Emeritus III looked as beatific as always. His vestments were pristine and lay in artful folds. His skull paint had been done with care and still looked as flawless as when it was first applied. But of course it would, without sweat to make it run or facial expressions to crease it.

They say the dead look like they are sleeping, but Copia disagreed. Papa didn’t look asleep. He just looked dead, all the vitality and charisma drained away from him, leaving behind only a shell dressed to look like the real thing.

Copia was still coming to terms with everything that had happened. Prior to his death, Copia had interacted with Papa Emeritus III quite frequently, but to call them friends was a stretch. Their relationship had been purely professional, for the cardinal’s part at least. Copia had always been better with paperwork than people. The tedious details of bureaucracy that he excelled at were the youngest Papa’s nemesis, and most of the time it fell to Copia to pick up his slack. It was hard not to resent the extra work, but every time he saw Papa and thought to give him a piece of his mind, the words died in his throat. He just wasn’t the confrontational type. Besides, Papa had always been so affable in person, it was hard to stay irritated with him. Against his better judgement, Copia couldn’t help but find his rakish, cavalier attitude endearing.

Hearing the news of his death, so soon on the heels of Copia’s own promotion, had hit him hard. It cast a pall over what should have been his proudest moment. The past months he’d gone through such a roller coster of emotions his nerves were shot, and now, face to face with the body of the man he’d in turned worshiped and resented…he was as wrung out as an old sponge.

The deceased Papa lay in state on in the altar, flanked on either side by the caskets of his brothers. All three looked as if they had only died yesterday; the wonders of modern embalming techniques mixed with alchemy. As the most recent to hold the title of Papa, the youngest brother took center stage, and it was there that most of the congregation lingered when paying their respects. Though a controversial figure for his unorthodox style of leadership, there was no denying Emeritus III was much loved by the people. Copia wondered how many of the crying congregation and Sisters of Sin were former bed partners to the Black Pope.

Adding a single dark red rose to the growing pile of offerings, Copia wondered how it had been done. An accident? Poison? A fatal blow now hidden underneath the layers of satin and silk? Everyone knew the rumors, and everyone knew he had died under mysterious circumstances like every other Papa since Nihil. A Papa who was still living, who had outlived all his children.

And now the cardinal was expected to take their place.

He’d always been more of a follower than a leader. It just wasn't in his temperament. So what did that say, that Sister Imperator recommended him to replace Papa Emeritus III as the leader of the Church?

In his fist he clutched his grucifix so tightly it cut through his gloves into his palm.

It meant he wasn’t supposed to be the leader at all.

* * *

As it happened, Cardinal Copia hadn’t needed to ritually sacrifice himself. At the very second he had tensed his arm to slide the needle sharp dagger into his heart, Papa Emeritus III returned to the living.

The first thing he’d seen was the cardinal standing over him, knife raised, and he’d scrambled off the altar. Or tried to, at least, because his muscles had refused to cooperate. No wonder, considering that until seconds ago he’d been filled with embalming fluid, and Lucifer only knows how _that_ was reversed. Instead he’d rolled off the edge and fallen to the cold stone with a grunt of pain.

While Copia stood there stupidly, mouth agape, Undine had leapt into action. They scooped Papa into their arms to keep him from further hurting himself and whispered that he was safe. They wouldn’t be though if they got caught, so while Undine took care of Papa, Copia hid the evidence of their activities.

The wind had blown out the candles, but the incense was still smoldering. He scooped dirt into his thurible to smother the coals. He debated what to do with the blood in the chalice and desecrated host, both of which were technically offerings to Satan, so he couldn't just toss them into the woods. He ended up pouring them out onto the altar. It was incriminating, yes, but he was just so damn grateful to be alive, that _Papa was alive holy fuck_ , that he didn’t dare risk offending Satan now.

Copia laughed hysterically, and if he sounded unhinged the only person around to judge him had been dead not five minutes ago. He licked the blood from the knife and sheathed it, then threw everything back into the sack. Together, they hurried back to the abbey as quickly as Papa’s stiff legs would allow them.

Papa was disorientated at first. He kept asking the same questions and did not recognize the cardinal or the ghoul who had helped him walk, despite always being able to instinctually tell which ghoul was which. Undine tried not to take it personally, but Copia could tell they were upset by the way they kept petting Papa’s hair.

They were in Copia’s chambers. While not the most clandestine location to hide after raising the dead, it was really they only place they could go. Papa was sprawled on the couch, still in his chasuble, while Undine pressed a damp washcloth to his forehead and fussed. Copia paced the room, expecting to hear a knock on his door at any second demanding he come out.

Raising the dead. Insane as it sounded, Copia has done it. Though there were countless stories of such attempts, few ended well, and most were cautionary. There were no confirmed cases of it ever working. Had it happened before and was kept secret? Or had someone’s miraculous return been explained by more mundane means, like pretending they had only faked their death? Honestly, the only genuine instance of resurrection Copia could think of was Christ, and that was too deep a rabbit hole to venture down right now. The implications alone were…tremendous.

But he couldn’t leave the though alone, like a sore in your mouth you couldn’t help poking with your tongue. Both Papa and Christ were prophets spreading the message of their Lords. Both were killed by their fathers, though indirectly. Both were returned to life.

“…Copia?”

He was so lost in thought he almost didn’t hear his name, but when he recognized that particular voice he was hit was a wave of deja vu. He hadn’t heard it in person in months.

From where he lay on the couch, Papa stared at Copia with only slightly glassy eyes. Copia had forgotten how intense those eyes could be, how they could pin one in place. Enthralled, some had said, like a vampire hypnotizing their victim. Copia’s feet carried him to the couch without him consciously deciding to move. Out of force of habit, he knelt before Papa and took his black gloved hand in his to kiss. “Your Dark Excellency. You have been missed.” Copia voice cracked on the last word and he fought back the tears trying to well in his eyes.

“You saved me, Cardinal.” Though still not entirely himself, Papa seemed more lucid than before. He spoke slowly, as if the words refused to form correctly in his mouth. His accent was more pronounced than usual and he slurred like he’d just woken up hungover.

“I—yes. I performed the ritual. I am so glad you—” _aren’t a zombie,_ he almost blurted out, “…seem yourself now.”

Papa seemed to pick up on what was left unsaid, though. “And not a scene from _Pet Sematary_?” He smirked. “Never fear, Cardinal, I have no such murderous urges. Or any urges other than to rest.”

Undine, perched on the arm of the couch like a gargoyle, fluffed the pillow under Papa’s head. “Then rest. Your body has been without spirit for months. It is a discomforting thing to again have a physical form, is it not? Wonderful, but so overwhelming.” Undine tsked. “All ghouls undergo such a time of adjustment when first made manifest on this plane.”

“I did not know that.” Copia said, astonished. Ghouls were a notoriously gossipy bunch, but had remained frustratingly close lipped about their exact metaphysical nature. Since their first appearance, scholars had been attempting for decades to learn more about them without much luck. There were plenty of theories of course, but even the air ghouls (normally the most conversational) had not given in to the academics’ wheedling. They indulged the alchemists’ experiments with the attitude of a cat tolerating being petted in exchange for treats (ghouls were also very susceptible to bribery).

“We generally do not discuss such secrets amongst mortals,” Undine said haughtily. “But you two are special. Papa has traveled beyond the realms of death. And you, Cardinal Copia, have been favored by Satan.”

Papa frowned and rubbed his forehead. The skull paint was starting to flake. “I…do not remember. What it was like.”

“To be dead?” Undine shrugged. “Perhaps the mortal brain cannot comprehend such wonders. It is a fleshy meat sack of earthly pleasures, not meant for the knowledge of the Infernal Host or the planes beyond mortal men. To recall your time among the spirits might drive you mad.”

“I did not feel the passage of time,” said Papa and his voice was distant, distracted. He was talking more to himself than Copia or Undine. “But when I try to recall where I was, it slips away…like a dream. All that is left behind is a sense of something important. I long for it, but I do not know what it is I am missing. It is a strange feeling, but even as I speak that desire to return fades.” He smiled, shook his head as if to shake away the thought, and forced himself upright. Copia winced when he heard what sounded like every vertebrae pop. The moan Papa let out when he cracked his neck was downright obscene. “So what happened, after my 'untimely' death?”

“Ah…” Copia wrung his hands, pulling at the seams of his gloves. “You and your brothers were embalmed and put on display. You went on tour, so followers could be with you one last time.” He pointedly didn't mention his own part to play on the tour.

“Hmm. So Imperator wasn’t joking about that. At least I made a lovely corpse.”

“When you returned home, they buried you in the mausoleum. Undine helped me get you out.”

Papa smiled, the first genuine bit of happiness Copia had seen since he retuned to life, and patted Undine’s knee. “You have always been a sweet one. What of your brethren?”

Copia shook his head. “No one else knows, I couldn’t risk it. Even Undine was an accident.”

“I shall keep it secret,” said Undine, who was radiating smugness after Papa’s compliment. Water elementals were dramatic like that, and Copia had gotten much better at reading their body language after living with the band while on tour. “The others who have served Papa must be told of course, but not yet. The more who know the more danger there is to you, Papa. We cannot risk Sister Imperator or Papa Nihil learning of what took place tonight; she would not hesitate to sic her traitorous dogs on you again!” they spat.

Undine had made no secret of their resentment towards the newest ghouls to be elevated to the coveted position of band clergy. Though there had been many changes to the band’s line up over the decades, after Papa Emeritus III’s last tour the Church had cleaned house, and a fresh gaggle of ghouls had accompanied Cardinal Copia. Now there was hardly a familiar face among the bunch, no pun intended. Though Copia had found them all to be a good natured sort, all eager to prove themselves worthy of their new rank as highest among earth bound spirits, Copia wondered if that eagerness to please hadn’t been the very reason Sister Imperator had use them as assassins. He wondered which of them had been the one to murder the man he had nearly killed himself to save.

There was a schism in the Church, and it had been growing for some time. On one side was the old guard: Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator, the father and mother of the Satanic Church. On the other: the three sons, who while commercially successful were a threat to their father’s authority. Caught in the middle was Cardinal Copia. On the surface he appeared to have sided firmly with Father Nihil, whom he had served for years as his right hand man. But privately, Copia had disagreed with the decision to “retire” the last Papa, the man who had bought more fame and glory to the name of Lucifer than anyone since his father had first propelled the church out of the shadows and into the international spotlight.

“I suppose Father has taken back over.”

Copia winced. “That is…harder to answer.” So much for omitting his roll as the Church’s newest frontman. He owed it to Papa to explain, but he no idea what to say. He hadn’t anticipated this conversation, considering he hadn’t expect to survive the night. It was only by the grace of Lucifer, praise be to the Prince of Darkness, than he lived. Guess he had to live with the consequences, too. “You father named me his successor. I have been leading the Church in your absence.”

Copia had expected Papa to be angry. To scream and rage against him, to call him a traitorous rat scurrying at Imperator’s heels and licking her boots. But instead, he crumbled.

“…What?”

Until that moment, Copia hadn’t really thought about what it would feel like to know your own parent arranged your murder. The third Emeritus son hadn’t been very close to his father. Ironic, considering how similar in temperament (and libido) Nihil had been at that same age. But Sister Imperator had always been a wedge between them, and when forced to chose between his bastard offspring begotten on a fan and the love of his life? His son had always lost.

“He killed me…and made you Papa?” He asked, voice wavering.

“No!” Copia hastened to reassure him. “I am not Papa.” _Yet_. “And I do not want to be. I do not _intend_ to be!”

“Was I that bad at it?”

Now Undine was upset, too, picking up on Papa’s distress. They slid off the arm of the couch to cuddle next to Papa, wrapping an arm protectively around him. Papa did not seem to notice.

“I had not thought Imperator’s resentment ran so deep. I knew she held no love for me, but this…and he allowed it!”

Suddenly Papa stood, shrugging off Undine. He held his arms stiffly at his side, and Copia could see the golden nails of his gloves digging into his palms. “And not just me, but my brothers! That cold bitch. How the fuck can you kill your own child?” he hissed through clenched teeth. “The ignorant masses say we Satanists are evil, and we have always fought back. We say that what they call 'evil' is freedom from the hypocrisy of their God. But those two? Are evil.”

On the couch, Undine hung back, cautious of the anger they could no doubt sense rolling off the man. Seeing no help from that corner, Copia took the leap himself. Gently, Copia rested his hand on Papa’s shaking shoulders.

“That’s why I did it, Papa. We need you. The _world_ needs you. If we are truly to be the messengers of our Lord Lucifer, then we can’t let people like them lead the Church. In a way, Sister Imperator was right: Nihil’s time is up. That age is over. We need you to lead us.”

“No, Cardinal.”

“…What?” Said Copia, taken aback.

Papa sighed. “I will not be resuming my office. It’s like you said: that age, it is passed now.”

The bottom dropped out of Copia’s stomach. “B-but that’s why I brought you back! That was the whole point of this!” He sat down hard on the couch before his knees failed him and buried his face in his hands. Poor Undine watched the drama unfold from the other end, hugging a pillow to their chest.

“Cardinal Copia.” Hearing his full title, Copia looked up. Before him Papa Emeritus III stood tall,in full regalia, flushed with the power of Satan. His eyes were clear of the fog of confusion that had filled them just minutes before. When he spoke his voice resonated oddly, like someone else was speaking simultaneous just out of range of hearing, and the words had the weight of prophecy. “If you had the Will and Power to bring me back from the dead, that it is proof that you, more than any of us, are meant to lead us.”

Goosebumps prickled Copia’s skin, but when Papa keep talking the strange aura had vanished.

“Your ritual…it was beautiful. I could feel it. I could hear you from across the veil, calling me.” He smiled at Copia, and having all that attention focused on him, plus calling his song beautiful?

The embarrassment had Copia’s checks burning, he just knew his face was flaming up to his ears. “I-I can’t entirely take credit for that. The song came to me in a dream. I think it was divinely inspired for this purpose. To bring you back. And now, to hear you say it was a mistake…”

Papa rushed to his side and knelt at his feet. Taking the cardinal’s hands in his, he looked him in the eye, a reversal of their position earlier. “Do not say this!” He begged. “A mistake? Far from it! This is opportunity. This is us seizing our fate back from the hands of others who would conspire against us. You have done me a great service that I can never repay.” And then, kneeling at his feet like a supplicant, Papa kissed his knuckles. “I owe you my life, my dear.”

Blushing, Copia yanked his hands away to fold them in his lap. “Never the less, I am…uncomfortable in my new role. The year and a day is not yet over, but then I will be given the skull paint. I expect Papa Nihil will pronounce me the new Papa. Not Emeritus, I do not think, since I am not of the bloodline, but perhaps Copia the First? Or some new name,” he muttered. “I never wanted this position. When Imperator approached me I was honored, but it never felt right. It should have been you.”

Papa crossed his legs to get comfortable, evidently perfectly fine sitting on the floor. His robes bunched up around him like an oversized blanket. “On the contrary, it should _never_ have been me. The third son. The bastard. I do not have the head for matters of state and office. I would rather be out there, doing the unholy work of Lucifer, than stuck here in the abbey. My brothers were better suited for directing the Church. And now you.”

“But that’s my point! Anyone can organize such things, and you have many loyal clergy members for such tasks. None of them won a Grammy! None of them have earned us thousands of new members! You have done more to further our work than any Papa. That you neglected other duties is nothing in the face of that.” Copia chuckled. “And considering you neglected those duties in favor of indulging in lust, sloth, and other sins…”

Papa laughed too, but it was bitter. “My father would disagree with your assessment of my qualifications. Which is why he had me murdered.” He threw up his hands. “Say I announce my return. The true Anti-Christ, back from the dead! With Father and Imperator around, I will still be a pawn in their games. And you, my dear Cardinal, would be a threat to their authority. You, I fear, would be filling a grave next.”

Copia opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and it was like eating a ball of lead. “Then I suppose we should...do something. About them.”

In Dante’s _Inferno_ , the Ninth Circle of Hell was a frozen lake in with Lucifer was trapped. Surrounding him were all those who had betrayed their family, benefactors, and God, for that was considered the greatest sin of all. The Beast was describes as having three gaping maws of terrible teeth, each one forever masticating the three more infamous traitors in history: Judas, Brutus, and Longinus. Copia wondered which was the greater betrayal: conspiring to murder your son, or conspiring to otherthrow the leader of the Satanic Church to take revenge? The full enormity of their situation left Copia’s head spinning.

Undine clapped their hands together. “A coup d'état! How exciting. Shall I get the gunpowder?”

“Lets leave the treason and the plotting for later. Right now, I would like to thank the Cardinal for saving my life.” Papa peeled off his gloves and tossed them carelessly aside. Then he rested his hands on Copia’s knees, squeezing gently, and Copia could feel the heat of his skin burn straight through the fabric of his pants.

“Let me show you how very _grateful_ I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Undine is just watching all this like ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Because I had to google a bunch of Catholic Vocabulary Words and not everyone knows random occult shit, have a glossary!
> 
> Athame: ritual knife used in some Neo-pagan and Satanic traditions  
> Chasuble: ceremonial robes worn by a priest during mass  
> Host: communion wafer + magic Jesus powers  
> Ley Line: the lines connecting various ancient sites believed to be natural centers of magical energy. If you draw lines on a map between all the Neolithic sites and churches in Great Britian they will spell out “Epstein didn’t kill himself”  
> Paten: the ritual bowl for holding the communion wafers during Mass, or your Vespa keys the rest of the time  
> Sacristy: storage space for your Catholic Mass Accessories, different from a reliquary where you keep your relics, or a vestry where you keep your vestments, or a closet where you keep your gays  
> Tabernacle: ornate container for store communion wafers, usually locked so “Jews can’t steal them” and I wish I was making that up  
> Thurible: the swinging incense burner  
> Undine: a type of water elemental in alchemic literature
> 
> Lastly, in the language of flowers a dark red roses mean grief, “Beyond the Realms of Death” is a Judas Priest song, and “gunpowder treason and plot” is from the rhyme about Guy Fawkes’ attempt to blow up Parliament in 1605.


	3. Other Fun Activities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a little more backstory for Undine and Copia gets a blow job. Porn is hard to write. Sassy dialogue is not. Goddamn this was a rollercoaster just to get to a blow job and a half. Is it sexy? Funny? Sentimental? Who knows?
> 
> Undine speaking in tongues is done with the Zalgo translator from Lingo Jam, as borrowed from werewolfkeeper.

Cardinal Copia had been having a very strange night.

It started when he’d written his will. Or suicide note, depending on how you looked at it. Regardless of what you called it, he hadn’t expected to survive the night, so he’d left instructions for Undine to carry out should his ritual fail, and a second letter addressed to Papa Emeritus III should it succeed.

Then he’d robbed a grave with a ghoul, and the less said about such ghastly work the better.

Then there was the necromantic ritual itself, which wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence even in a Satanic church. At least not the kind of necromancy that bought the dead back to life, because the witches in the seminary school held a monthly seance every new moon, actually, but literally raising the dead? Not so much. Yet Copia had done exactly that, snatching a soul away from Lucifer’s dark embrace. He dared not contemplate what price he would later pay for that theft, because surely no sinner was more cherished, more prized to Satan than that of an Anti-Pope?

Now said sinner was on his knees, offering to ‘thank’ Copia for bringing him back to life, and the way he licked his painted lips left no doubt about how he meant to pay that debt.

And the only thing Copia could think to say?

“No, thank you,” he squeaked.

Papa Emeritus III clearly hadn’t expected that as a response. Slack-jawed, he sat back on his heels to look at Copia in disbelief. “What do you mean, no?”

“He wants to give you a blow job,” said Undine, keeping Copia from forgetting for even a second that the ghoul was right next to him on the couch. As if the situation wasn’t awkward enough without an audience making commentary.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Copia said dryly.

Papa raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s the problem? Do you not, ah, ‘go’ for men?”

“N-no, that’s not it.” Far from it actually, considering the circumstances in which Copia had been excommunicated, but that was a different story.

“You do not find me attractive?” Papa asked, and the sly smile curling his lips betrayed how unlikely he found that particular idea.

“That’s not it either,” Copia admitted, and the only reason he wasn’t completely mortified saying so was because pretty much everyone had a little bit of a crush on Papa. Rumor said his mother, the woman with whom Papa Nihil had cheated on Sister Imperator, was actually a succubus, a Princess from the second circle of Hell, and her son had inherited her demonic power of allure.

“Mm, I think you are cute, too. You blush so charmingly when you are flustered. Are you nervous right now? Don’t be, I am gentle,” he purred, squeezing Copia’s thighs. “Such lovely legs.”

“Thanks,” said Copia, because he had proper manners and hadn’t been raised in a barn.

“Your thighs are nice and thick. That’s a good thing! The kids spell is with an extra _c_.”

Undine groaned. “Papa, please do not try to use slang.”

“You’re an ageless spirit, what do you know about being hip?”

“Yes, a spirit from Hell, not under a rock.” If Undine hadn’t been wearing a mask their eyes would have rolled straight out of their head. “We do have wifi, even if the signal is shit in the catacombs. Speaking of which,” Undine turned to look at Copia. “The ghouls would like to have ethernet cables added to their standard amenities. I figure as head of the Church you can probably make that happen.”

“Am I being seduced or not?!”

Copia immediately regretted his outburst, but Papa looked delighted. “You are exactly right, I should be getting down to business!”

“No, that’s not what I—“

Papa flicked open the button of his slacks.

“—meant!” Copia yelped, trying to squirm away but Undine had him boxed in against the armrest. “Your Unholiness, Undine is right here—“

“Oh psh, I’m sure they don't mind!”

“Not at all, I greatly enjoy watching,” Undine purred.

“Just— _back off_ a minute, will you?!” His frustration must have leaked into his voice, because Papa actually listened. Surprised, he folded his hands in his lap.

Copia actually felt a little bad about his reaction. He hadn’t meant to snap at Papa, but things had been getting out of control. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling a little at the roots to try to relieve the tension headache he could feel building. “Look, this is—a lot. You were just dead. I was almost dead. And while I’m all for some good old fashioned, life affirming sex in the name of Lucifer, I don’t particularly want any as thanks for a job well done.“ It smacked a little too close to payment for Copia’s tastes. “Especially since you’ve never given a single indication you even found me tolerable, much less attractive. I’m fairly certain when we first met you thought I was your father’s secretary. You told me to get you an espresso.”

“You did, though,” said Papa, who at least had the grace to look a little sheepish. “I remember that. It was cold by the time you came back.”

“And I should have thrown it in your face for treating me like an errand boy.”

Papa laughed. “Probably.”

They lapsed into silence. Copia didn’t know what to say, and Papa didn’t seem to know where to look, studying Copia’s argyle socks. Just when Copia was about to extract himself out from between Undine and Papa, he felt a hand on his ankle.

“Copia. I have noticed you. Many times.” Papa’s thumb started slowly rubbing back and forth. “Working with my father. Reading in the library. Eating alone in the rectory. You take your vows seriously, but you are not so serious. Just not the best at making friends.” He looked at Copia from the corner of his eye. “I am sorry that I have not been a friend to you. I would like to be your friend now.”

The line was so cheesy it could have been from a harlequin bodice ripper. Copia expected Papa to go for his pants again, but he only sat there on his heels like a dog at attention. “You give head to all your friends?” He asked.

“Only my favorites.” Papa threw him a wink. “And I think we will be very, very good friends, Copia. We have a coup to plan together, after all, and once we have removed our enemies I will crown you _papa tenebris_ myself. Yes, yes, I know you do not want to wear the mitre,” he added before Copia could object, ”But I think you would do a good job. You just need to get over…” he waved his hand at Copia, “…this!”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“Shy is not the word.” Papa tapped his lip in thought. “Awkwardness? Nerves? No, insecurity!” He snapped his fingers. “You just need more confidence.”

“He’s plenty confident on stage,” said Undine, and Copia shot the traitorous ghoul a glare that they completely ignored. “He has even less shame than you Papa, if that’s possible. He turns into a right slut for Satan,” said Undine sibilantly, drawing out the ’s’ sound with their forked tongue. “You should see the way he works the crowd, they beg him to be fucked right then and there.”

Papa lit up like he’d just learned Yule had come early this year. “Do tell.”

“Thrusting on stage, molesting poor innocent ghouls, and his suits!” Undine mimed fanning themselves. “So tight they might as well be painted on. He has one in white, like a bride. Swear to Satan, by the end of the tour the fabric was so thin the front row could tell he was circumcised.”

Papa gave Copia an appraising once over, eyes lingering between his legs before looking him in the eye. Copia had long grown use to the unnatural appearance of his own eyes, one of the many Marks of the Beast, but he had had forgotten how unsettling it was from the other side. Now that one pale eye cut through him like ice. “Hmm. You have carried on my work well. But you disappoint me.”

Instantly, Copia felt a rush of panic wash over him. “F-forgive me, Unholy Father! Whatever I have done—“ A finger pressed to his lips.

“So many others have seen you this side off you, yet I have not.” Papa’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but the tone was smooth and sweet as honey. Each word dripped off his tongue like an invocation. “I want to see it.”

Entranced, Copia nodded. The fingertip brushing his lip traced lower, light as a feather down his neck. He shivered, and it trailed downward, past the buttons of his shirt, to the front of his unbuttoned slacks. Like a magnet all the blood in his body seemed to follow the path of Papa’s hand, and to his shame he was already starting to thicken. He hunched over a little to hide it, embarrassed by how quickly he was responding to so little attention, but Papa pulled down his zipper, and the bulge could be clearly seen through his underwear.

“What is this you are wearing?” Papa hooked a finger under the narrow waistband of Copia’s thong.

“Boxers bunch up under my pants, and briefs leave lines,” Copia explained. “This is more practical.”

“I like them,” said Papa, pinching the soft material. Then he leaned forward and pressed an opened mouth kiss right over the head of Copia’s cock.

“Oh sweet _Satanus_ …” His head fell back against the couch, but just as quickly he snapped it forward, not wanting to miss a second of the sight before him.

Papa laved his tongue over his underwear until a wet patch formed. The fabric was thin enough it almost felt like there was nothing at all between them, but the tease of knowing how much better it would feel without them on was torturous. They clung to Copia like a second skin, and with his face literally in Copia’s crotch it was painfully obvious how much he liked what Papa was doing, and his face burned in shame.

Papa certainly seemed pleased by Copia’s eagerness though. His fingers snaked up Copia’s inner thigh and gave his balls a light squeeze. Copia jumped, accidentally shoving his crotch into Papa’s face, and when Papa pulled away there was a smear of grey paint on the damp front of Copia’s thong.

Now would have been a good time for Hell to open up and take him, but Copia had no such luck. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” said Papa, rubbing the heel of his palm over Copia’s half hard cock. “Fuck you’re big,” he moaned, squeezing hard, and Copia forced his hips to stay still. “Let me see it. Please?”

Copia couldn’t shove his clothes off fast enough. He pushed his pants and underwear down together, but in his eagerness forgot to remove his shoes first, so he struggled for a second to kick them off. He didn’t even bother to remove his pants all the way, just left them bunched up around one foot once the other leg was free. There was a split second for Copia to feel self-conscious, pants around his ankle and dick waving in the air, before all thought was obliterated by the descent of a molten hot, slippery tongue.

Papa started slowly, just mouthing at the head, but the entire scenario was already so intensely erotic that Copia bit the inside of his lip to keep from crying out. Inside his leather gloves his palms were starting to sweat, and the barley closed cut on his left palm stung. He clawed the couch cushions to keep from grabbing Papa’s head and forcing him to pick up the pace.

Papa wouldn’t be rushed though. Languidly, he swirled his tongue around the tip and pressed kisses up and down the shaft. His lips lingered over every inch, and by the time he finally took Copia into his mouth the man practically sobbed in relief. Still he kept things slow, popping the seal of his lips back and forth over the ridge of the crown, flicking his tongue over the frenulum. His mouth was already starting to water, so he let it drip down to make the slide of his lips easier. By the time they were finished Papa knew they would both be a sloppy mess, but that was half the fun of giving a blow job.

With each bob of his head he moved a little lower, took Copia a little deeper, until he felt pressure on his soft palate and backed off before he could gag. He would need to work up to that, but he’d managed to deep throat his partners before. Granted, few of them had been as well endowed at Copia, and Papa squirmed at the thought of later taking that fat cock inside him, of feeling the stretch against all his most sensitive places. He’d push the cardinal flat on his back, crawl into his lap, and ride him like the whore of Babylon astride her red beast. Moaning, he pulled up the layers of his clothes to touch himself.

Meanwhile, Undine was watching the action unfold with unholy glee. They loved human mating behaviors, even though they tended to be far less violent than how ghouls preferred to do things. The sexual energy building in the room was delicious, and spiked sharply when Papa started masturbating. Undine tapped Copia on the shoulder, who jumped like he’d forgotten the ghoul was there, and pointed down. Upon seeing what Papa was doing, Copia let out a shaky “P-papa!”

Hearing his name, Papa glanced up to see both Undine and Copia watching his hand move under his bunched up clothing. Caught in the act, he pulled off Copia’s cock with a wet pop, but didn’t stop masturbating. Instead, he hitched his chasuble and alb up higher, exposing himself to their hungry gazes.

“See what you do to me, my disciple?”

It would have taken a case of sudden onset blindness for Copia to tear his eyes away: Papa, hair and clothes deliciously disheveled, lips pink and shiny with spit, on his knees with his thighs spread and cock hard. Unlike Copia, Papa hadn’t been wearing anything beneath his vestments. Copia had never seen him naked before, but he’d wondered, and honestly? With all the gossip he’d heard and the sheer bravado of the man he’d expected his dick to be bigger. Not that it wasn’t substantial, but Copia realized with some surprise he actually had Papa outgunned, and wasn’t that a heady thought: sliding their cocks together to compare them side by side.

As Copia stared, Papa traced a finger up the length of his shaft. It twitched against his belly, leaving behind a sticky string of precum, and Copia’s mouth watered. He was the definition of sin; the perfect picture of debauchery straight out of Copia’s most guilty, secret fantasies. And Papa looked this way because of _him_.

“See how much I enjoy doing this for you? Oral sex is my favorite, you know.” His voice was huskier than usual. “I love giving head, giving pleasure this way. The taste, the sounds, all of it. But I haven’t sucked a man in a while. So many pretty sisters, so little time! So I miss this. I miss having my face fucked.”

It was cliché, but the dirty talk painted such a beautiful picture in his head that Copia’s dick visibly throbbed at the thought. Papa noticed too, and smiled. Reaching out, he guided Copia’s hands to his head. Copia was still wearing his gloves, and Papa pressed a kiss to the black leather wrist. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

Then he took Copia in his mouth as far as he could go, until his air was cut off and the back of his throat was stuffed full. He held it there for a moment and tried to swallow, but fuck Copia was big, too thick to comfortably deep throat, but damn if it didn’t make Papa more determined to try. Copia was being such a good boy too, waiting for permission to move. That kind of behavior deserved a reward, he thought, so he pulled back to a comfortable depth and bobbed his head in steady rhythm.

Hesitantly, Copia buried his hands in Papa’s hair and matched his pace. At first he was barely touching him, more petting his head than truly gripping it, but as the pleasure mounted in his loins Papa’s rhythm wasn’t quite fast enough, hard enough. He shoved Papa’s head down with a little more force and gave a tentative thrust of his hips. In response, Papa hollowed his checks to suck, and Copia just about bit through his own lip to keep quiet.

Like a shark, Undine picked up the scent of blood. “D̴o̴ ̴n̸o̵t̸ ̴s̵t̶i̸f̷l̶e̸ ̸y̷o̵u̷r̵ ̶s̷o̵u̶n̵d̵s̴,̵ ̸p̶̼̤̏͆r̷̰͗ͅe̶̳̝̓t̴̥̍̒t̶̤̍y̷̥̿͘͜ ̵̖̈́̓c̴̰̅́a̴̙̘̽r̸̪̖͆d̷̻̱͌i̵̠̪̚n̵̬̏̌ͅa̶̲͓̚l̴̖̳̕͝l̵,” they hissed, and Copia felt tendrils of demonic magic give weight to the words. As an accomplished magician, Copia could have thrown off the suggestion, but he let the spell melt away his inhibition. On the next pass of Papa’s tongue over his slit Copia’s mouth fell open in a shaky moan, oblivious to the blood welling on his lip or the way the ghoul watched it drip down his chin.

Undine removed their mask and broke the spell altering their appearance. The pink of their skin darkened to the murky, grey-green of the ocean during a storm, and their sclera went black. Their tail thwacked against the couch like a cat.

While it was rumored among the newer initiates that ghouls were forbidden from removing their masks, that wasn’t strictly true. Far from a fashion choice, the masks were actually magical artifacts with a powerful enchantment cast upon them, somewhere between a glamour and genuine shapeshifting. Each ghoul was gifted one upon their arrival from Hell, and when worn the masks hide their demonic traits so successfully even their tails and claws couldn’t be felt. It was what let them walk among humans undetected, let them perform on stage and give interviews, and those not in the Church simply assumed it was all part of the act.

Ghouls were forbidden from removing their masks in the presence of the uninitiated, but among the clergy or in the sanctuary of the abbey it was permitted. However, many ghouls preferred to stay masked in the company of any human, only going bare faced in the catacombs beneath the abbey where they dwelled. There was something about an unmasked ghoul that many humans found unsettling: their aura made the eye want to slide off them. Looking directly at one for too long could cause headaches, dizziness, and in some rare cases hallucinations. Because of this, most ghouls only removed their masks around humans in certain situations.

Case in point: Undine leaned over the couch to catch Copia’s open, gasping mouth. Their forked tongue licked the blood from his lips and slid deeper, longer than a human’s could reach. Copia made a noise of surprise, but didn’t pull away. To Undine’s pleasure he gave as good as he got, and the tip of his small human tongue explored the shape of Undine’s, especially the seam where it split in two. It tickled, and Undine giggled into their kiss, pulling back.

“If you think that’s fun, just imagine how much better it is somewhere else.” They grinned, revealing the points of their serrated teeth.

Copia whimpered, but Undine wasn’t sure if that was in response to them or what Papa was doing. They looked down at Papa’s head bobbing over Copia’s lap and rested their clawed hand in Papa’s hair, scratching his scalp gently.

Undine was former clergy. Before retiring, they had played bass with Papa Emeritus II. Despite not ever serving Emeritus III in ritual, they had a soft spot for the younger brother. Seeing him alive and well was bittersweet though, because it only made him feel the absence of another more keenly.

Like any good ghoul, Undine had loved his Papa wholeheartedly, fiercely. If they could give their life in exchange for his, they would in a heartbeat, but theirs was not true life. A ghoul did not have a mortal spirit; it would not be an equal exchange. Although Copia did not have to make the ultimate sacrifice, Undine did not delude themselves for one second thinking Lucifer would be so merciful a second time. No such ritual would happen again. Not without the help of a human, and Undine could not ask that of anyone. Even with a willing sacrifice, and surely there were still plenty of Sisters of Sin who loved Emeritus II, they doubted they would have Copia’s success. If it were so easy the walking dead would outnumber the living. No, there was more to Copia than Undine could see. They would have to be content with the return of only one son.

Undine leaned their head against Copia’s shoulder and watched Papa work, a fond smile curling their lips. “He is lovely like this, is he not?”

Honestly, he was, thought Copia, and it was downright unfair that an old man in smeared face paint with drool soaking his chin could look so appealing. His slicked back hair was mused, and he looked up at Copia from under his bangs with watery eyes.

This was one of the hottest experiences of Copia’s life, and would feature in his fantasies for years to come. No doubt that was why his brain decided now was the time to ruin the mood, and because he was an awkward mess with no mouth filter he blurted out the horrible thought.

“Is this necrophila?”

Choking, Papa practically spat out his cock. “Are you serious right now?”

“W-well, its a valid concern…?” Copia backpedaled.

“What _the fuck_ , Copia.”

“Considering the Church’s prohibition against necrophilia is because a corpse can’t consent, I think you are in the clear,” Undine chimed it.

“Nobody asked you!” Papa glared, but it was hard to to take him seriously when his hair was going in three different directions from being used as a handhold. Before Copia could say anything else crazy, Papa guided his cock back into his mouth and sucked hard.

“Fuck! Oh fuck, Papa,” Copia gasped, eyes screwing shut. He twisted his fingers in Papa’s hair and desperately bucked his hips into the tight, wet suction surrounding him, and the only thing stopping Copia from choking him was the hand Papa had wrapped around the base of his dick. He’d been getting close earlier before Papa stopped when Copia opened his big mouth to make an idiot of himself, but now he was right back on the edge.

Papa was going at it with gusto, and it was almost too much too fast, like the pleasure was being pulled out of him. A part of him wanted to slow down, to make himself linger on the precipice of orgasm to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop fucking Papa’s slack mouth.

To his credit, Papa took it like a professional, letting Copia pound into him so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks. His jaw ached as he struggled to hold his mouth open wide enough and his lips were going numb from covering his teeth. Arousal drowned out his discomfort though, and he jerked himself faster when the first salty drops of precum hit his tongue. Neither of them were going to last much longer.

Copia’s thighs started shake. He could feel his orgasm building, and he tugged weakly at Papa’s hair to warn him. “I’m almost there.”

Papa moaned, and the vibration had Copia’s eyes rolling in his head.

“Pleaseletmecomeinyourmouth,” Copia gasped all in one breath, and if he hadn’t been turned on he would have been shocked by his own audacity.

Papa didn’t seem offended though. If anything he looked just as aroused by the prospect as Copia, swollen lips stretched wide around Copia’s girth while he humped his own hand. When he pulled away panting for breath Copia could have cried.

“Look at me.” Papa’s voice was closer to the growl he used when performing, and now Copia would never _not_ think of this moment when hearing Mummy Dust.

Helpless but to obey, Copia stared, transfixed, as Papa sucked him back in, only this time when he hit the back of his throat Papa swallowed past the urge to gag, and suddenly his lips were buried in Copia’s neatly trimmed pubic hair. Almost as quickly as it happened Papa pulled back, then did it again, and the convulsions of his throat as he struggled not to choke were what sent Copa over the edge. He curled around Papa’s head as every muscle in his body clenched.

“Fuck! I’m there! Oh Satan, yes,” he slurred as he emptied himself into Papa’s mouth, pleasuring boiling over. Papa swallowed the first few jets, but the rest escaped from the corners of his lips. Over sensitive, Copia had to actually pull him off his dick by the hair, but to his embarrassment he wasn’t done coming. One last weak pulse streaked across Papa’s cheek.

Later, this was the moment that would stick with Copia, the exact snapshot in time that would haunt his dreams for years: Papa on his knees, gazing up at him with lustful adoration, come on his face, and panting mouth open as if to receive communion.

As he lay boneless on the couch, still shuddering in the after shocks, Papa stood up, knees giving a loud crack from kneeling for so long. He toed out of his shoes and socks and yanked his vestments over his head. Naked, he swung his legs over Copia’s and straddled him. Copia flinched as Papa’s cock bumped into his own, still hard but oversensitive after his orgasm.

Gently, Papa cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “May I?” He leaned in, bumping noses, but stopped just shy of brushing their lips together. It was ridiculous that Papa even asked, considering he’d just had Copia’s dick in his mouth not two minutes ago, but a part of Copia was charmed by it. He nodded, and Papa tilted his head and kissed him.

It was strange to think that up to this point they hadn't kissed. What they’d already done was so intimate, but a kiss felt more so somehow. Copia expected Papa to kiss the way he fucked, but he kept it shallow, perhaps out of consideration since not everyone liked the taste of their own come. Which seemed a little rude to Copia, since if someone was nice enough to swallow the least you could do was kiss them. Taking the initiative, he cupped Papa’s jaw and licked into his open mouth, deepening the kiss. From the way Papa’s hips started to rock restlessly in his lap, he appreciated it.

When the broke apart for air, Copia pushed at his shoulder. “Lie back.”

Undine scooted back on the couch to make room and let Papa recline against them. They nuzzled into his neck and pressed biting kissing down the column of his throat, and Papa groaned, arching into the press of sharp teeth. He bent his knee and let the other hang off the edge of the couch, legs splayed open invitingly. His cock was so red it looked painful, and his balls were drawn up tight to his body. They were hairless, and now that Copia was looking he noticed that Papa either shaved or waxed because the only hair he could see was a trimmed patch of thick black curls above his penis.

Copia removed his gloves. Papa’s skin was just as soft as it looked, though perhaps not quite as tight or supple as a younger man’s. Even naked he still looked fantastic for his age, whatever it was (the ministry was riff with rumors about that topic). Copia slid his fingers over Papa’s perineum into the crease of his ass, and felt that he was hairless there, too, barely even a hint of stubble. He raised an eyebrow, and Papa grinned shamelessly.

“I enjoy the occasional _osculum infame_ outside of initiation rituals.”

Copia pressed a little deeper, just enough to let his dry finger tease the rim of Papa’s hole. “You don’t strike me as a traditionalist.”

Papa bore down on his finger, and it popped past the first ring of clenching muscles. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Under his skull paint his face was flushed, and the color went all the way down his neck and chest. “Sometimes the Old Ways are the best for pleasing the Old One.”

“And pleasing yourself, too?”

Papa hummed in agreement, eyes fluttering closed as he shifted restlessly, trying to get Copia’s finger in deeper where he wanted it. Undine had started pinching his nipples, and every twist of the ghoul’s gunmetal claws had Papa’s cock twitching. “Copia, please,” he begged, beyond pride or reason if it meant getting to come.

Copia removed his finger. Done teasing, he bent his head to Papa’s lap and sucked his pretty dick into his mouth. Gentleman that he was, Papa didn’t thrust, though the urge to do so must have been overwhelming. Copia rewarded him by dipping the point of his tongue into his urethra.

Papa groaned. “You don’t need to do much, I’m close.”

He wasn’t lying. Copia didn’t have to try very hard, nothing like the porn worthy performance Papa put on for him. He'd barely gotten a chance to really enjoy the weight of Papa’s cock in his mouth when suddenly it was swelling and semen was bursting over his tongue. Despite the warning he hadn’t been expecting it, so he didn’t manage to catch it all, but Papa pulled him into a kiss and licked away the smears from Copia’s lips.

When they broke apart he turned to Undine next, sharing an equally messy, opened mouth kiss with the ghoul. Copia could see their tongues twining together, and he realized Papa was deliberant sharing his come with the ghoul. Undine rolled it around their mouth like wine.

“And what of you, my devoted ghoul?” Papa murmured against Undine’s black lips. “Would you like me to kiss you somewhere else?”

The ghoul raked their claws over Papa’s tender stomach, grinning as he flinched away from the sharp points. A flick of the wrist is all it would take to disembowel him. “You would not like how I play. I will seek my pleasure in the catacombs later, but I will carry your taste and scents with me and think of you both as I fuck my brethren.”

“I like a little pain with my pleasure, but if you are sure.” Sitting up, Papa stretched like a cat and scratched at the drying spit in his pubic hair. “Where is your bathroom? I need a shower.”

“In the bedroom. Let me get you a towel—“ Copia started to get up, but Papa waved him away.

“Sit, I can manage, your place isn’t that big.” He disappeared into the bedroom, and a minute later Copia heard his shower start.

I should probably get cleaned up as well, Copia thought, but suddenly it was like all the energy drained out of him. Between the anxiety of grave robbing, conducting a massively powerful ritual, and then having his brains sucked out through his dick, Copia was wiped. He couldn’t even be bothered to pull his pants back on, so he just sat there bare assed on the couch. It wasn’t like Undine minded. As he closed his heavy eyelids, he felt the ghoul curl up beside him, seeking his warmth. It was nice, so he wrapped an arm around them to cuddle.

He was just about to doze off when Undine spoke.

“Congratulations on the sex, but what exactly are we going to do now?”

Copia blinked sleepily. “What do you mean?”

“The plan is to take back control of the Church, correct? For which we currently have no plan. But in the mean time—“ Undine jerked a thumb in the direction of Copia’s bedroom. “What do we do with him?”

“I can stay here with Copia!” Papa called out from the bathroom, and Copia realized he didn't hear the shower running anymore. Papa came out wearing Copia’s fuzzy flannel bathrobe with his wet hair wrapped in a towel like a turban. His face was freshly scrubbed and pink from the scalding water.

It was the first time in years Copia had seen him without make up, and he'd forgotten how radically it transformed his appearance. Papa looked like a different person entirely. The lines of his skull paint made his face look narrower, and he had a strong, square jaw line. His cheekbones weren’t as sharp, and the black did a good job of hiding the crows feet around his eyes. He looked more his age, whatever that was, but also more human, less beautifully otherworldly. More approachable, and Copia thought it was a good look on him.

For a moment Copia entertained that scenario, of leaving his cold office to come home every evening to this version of Papa waiting for him. Instead of eating alone they could dine together, and at night retire to his bed to fuck each other into exhaustion. Fantasy was all it way though; Copia couldn’t hide Papa in his rooms indefinitely, like a pet that wasn’t on the lease.

Copia shook his head. “We have no way of knowing how long it will take us to stop Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator. You’d be stir crazy in a week. Undine is right, you aren’t safe here in the abbey.”

“Did I say that?” said Undine sounding smug.

Copia rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I take it you already have a suggestion then.”

“We give him a mask. Disguise him as a ghoul.”

Papa raised his eyebrows. “That…would work.”

“The mask will let him move about the abbey freely, but he will still have to stay here with you. The ruse would not last long in the catacombs amongst the others, they would eventually realize he is not of Hell.”

“What about his eyes?” Copia pointed out.

“The mask will also take care of that. It disguises all demonic traits, and the Evil Eye is in essence demonic, too. This will work,” said Papa, and he spoke so confidently that Copia had to wonder a little.

“Wouldn’t it be more suspicious if a ghoul not in the Ghost project is seen coming and going from my rooms?”

Papa shrugged. “Say this ghoul is assisting you with a special task. You have the authority, even if Imperator doesn’t like it. Or let everyone assume you are just into ghouls.” He threw a kiss to Undine, who was still plastered to Copia’s side. “Are you sure we cannot tempt you to stay? I’m sure the good cardinal would not want any guest of his to leave unsatisfied.”

“Not tonight. There is an Earth ghoul I’ll call on. He’s quiet, but fucks like a behemoth.”

“It’s not Mountain, is it?”

Undine bared their many rows of teeth in a leer. “Maybe.”

“Get it ghuleh, you climb him like Everest.”

Undine air kissed both their cheeks goodbye, a European habit they’d not doubt picked up from Emeritus II. Replacing their mask, Copia averted his eyes as the air around Undine seemed to waver like a mirage for a moment. When he looked back the ghoul once again looked human, no tail or claws in sight. They slipped out the door as quietly as a hunting predator just as the first rays of dawn were brightening Copia’s window.

“It’s late,” he said. “Or early, technically. I’ll put fresh linens on the bed for you.”

“Don’t bother, dirty sheets don’t bother me. Let’s just go to bed.”

Although they’d already exchanged bodily fluids, sleeping in the same bed with Papa had Copia’s stomach twisting in knots. “N-no, I usually go into work early, I’ll just head to my office now. Best not to change my routine too much and raise suspicion, right? I’m too wired to sleep anyway.“ Then he yawned, making a liar out of himself.

“Copia. Come to bed,” Papa said in a tone that brook no argument. Meekly, Copia followed him into the bedroom.

Papa hung up his towel to dry and Copia’s bathrobe back on the hook over the door. Copia was about to offer him something to wear to sleep in, but Papa pulled back the feather down comforter and flopped face first onto the bed with a dramatic huff, clearly done for the night. A minute later he was snoring softly.

Copia was ready to collapse, too. He skipped brushing his teeth in favor of swishing some mouthwash around for a few seconds until the salty aftertaste of semen was gone. He left his clothes on a pile on the floor to pick up in the morning and pulled on a pair of pajama pants. Normally, he slept in the nude, but with Papa also naked it felt far too intimate. Like he was assuming things.

Gingerly, Copia slipped under his sheets as far away from Papa as he could get without falling off the edge of the bed. It was queen sized, which was plenty large enough for one man who occasionally brought home company, but a bit cramped for two grown men to not bump into each other all night.

Unless a certain one of them (who Copia could have sworn was already sleep) decided to turn on his side and spoon the other. Copia tensed, then forced himself to keep breathing normally as Papa’s hand came to rest over his belly. His skin was still damp from the shower and stuck to Copia’s back. Hot breath puffed over his neck, raising goosebumps. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was falling asleep in the arms of a lover. A real partner, not a one night stand, if what’d he’d done with Papa could be called that.

Copia had no illusions about the nature of their relationship. Papa may feel indebted to him for saving his life, but theirs wasn’t a love story. Once Nihil and Imperator were dealt with and the former Dark Pope no longer had to hide his resurrection, he would no doubt return to his old habits of bed hopping. Still, Copia was selfish enough to enjoy the proximity and Papa’s undivided attention while he had it.

“Copia…” Papa groaned, his voice husky with sleep. “Stop thinking so loudly. Go to sleep.”

"Sorry."

"S'okay. Just relax, yeah? We will figure this out." Papa scooted back, but instead of giving Copia space he pulled the other man into the center of the bed with him. "Do you trust me, Copia?" He whispered.

"Of course, Papa." In truth Copia wasn't sure he knew the third Emeritus well enough to trust him fully, but what choice did he have? They were in this plot together now. Succeed or fail, they would share the same fate.

"And do you believe that none are closer to knowing our Infernal Master's Will than I?"

"Yes, Papa." This at least Copia did mean. Of any living being, surely it was Papa Emeritus III who best understood the cunning workings of Satan? It certainly wasn't his father, who callously sanctioned the murder of his children. Or Copia, the Church's pawn being moved around the chessboard by Nihil's queen.

"Then believe me when I say Satan would not let me go just to see us fail. Believe that you are stronger, more powerful than you know. Have faith, Cardinal." Propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned over to press a kiss to Copia's brow in benediction. "Sleep now, and later we will plan, yes?"

"Yes, Papa." Reassured, Copia let himself relax into Papa's arms. He lay awake for a while longer, listening to Papa's breathing slow and deepen. If he concentrated he could even feel his heartbeat thump against his back. Lulled to sleep by the sound, he fell into troubled dreams of a horse with no rider that he later wouldn't recall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol see what I did there with Special?
> 
> I realized 90% of the stuff I write ends with characters falling asleep because I don't know to to end scenes. *shrug* 
> 
> papa tenebris: Dark Pope according to google translate, but who knows if that is conjugated correctly. I don't Latin.  
> osculum infame: Latin for the Kiss of Shame. Witches were said to greet the Devil by kissing his “other mouth.” It was also part of initiation rituals. I might do another fic that explores this idea more as an excuse to give Papa a rim job for religious reasons.


End file.
